Freefall
by lonelyxromance
Summary: My father taught me to never panic. Panic clouded your mind until rational thinking was close to impossible. As much as I hated the man, I knew he was right. Still, I couldn't stop the fear from uncurling in my stomach, my heart raced until I felt it in my throat, my only thought repeated in my head until it sounded more like a morbid lullaby. I had to save her. Light(ish) Grim/Ulq


**I've been away for a long time.. and sadly, I haven't even gotten much done. Stupid work and stuff.**

**This is just something that I randomly thought of, don't expect it to be very long. Maybe one or two more chapters.**

**Grim/Ulqui whatever. Some Grim/Ichi (which I don't like but it's okay, they break up.)**

**For some reason, the website keeps getting rid of my separators between Grim's POV and Ulqui's (and I think my italics too) so I had to redo it. If I'm missing one lemme know.**

My father taught me to never panic. Panic clouded your mind until rational thinking was close to impossible. As much as I hated the man, I knew he was right. Still, I couldn't stop the fear from uncurling in my stomach, my heart raced until I felt it in my throat, my only thought repeated in my head until it sounded more like a morbid lullaby.

_Mai._

I had to save her.

She'd never forgive me. This was her first plane ride, she trusted me. I couldn't let it end like that.

I was fooling myself though, even if there were a place to land -which there wasn't for another twenty minutes at least- the plane wouldn't last long enough.

As if to prove me right, the engine shuttered, trying it's hardest to keep us airborne as long as possible, and stalled.

I had a sudden urge to laugh, the one thing that I always relied on for freedom was going to kill not just me, but my sister too. I was sure my father would get a kick out of it when he found out.

It wasn't particularly dark, even the thick clouds couldn't block out all of the midday sun. I could see every horrible detail of our fall with perfect clarity.

I threw my seatbelt to the side and tried the door, already knowing the air pressure from the fall wouldn't let it budge. Stumbling back, the balance thrown off from the plane tipping forward, I did something I never would have done if I had a choice. I threw all my weight at the door, twice, three times. It never moved an inch.

Mai took my shoulder, and I looked at her for the first time since I knew we would die. I wanted to laugh at the irony again. Me, the calm and calculating Ulquiorra, was panicking; and my expressive irrational sister was staring at me with serene, accepting eyes.

I threw the arm that wasn't braced against the wheel around her and pulled her close. She buried her face in my neck, and I heard her whisper, "I'm sorry."

I never got to reply, I couldn't tell her "No, this is my fault," because the next moment the world imploded, and all of my senses were overwhelmed with the saltwater crashing around us.

llllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllll

One, two, three, four, damn.

I searched the sand for another one, there just wasn't many good skipping rocks on this damn beach. Or maybe I'd just used them all in the past few weeks. Ah, here we go.

One, two, three, four, five, six, shit.

I sat down with a huff, digging my feet into the silky, whitish sand. The sun was just barely starting to set, the earlier storm had disappeared just as fast as it showed up, leaving just enough wispy clouds to leave the view with a painted look. I felt my face turn down in a grimace, here I felt like shit and the sky had the balls to rub its pretty little view in my face. I threw a decent sized rock in the sun's direction for good measure, and lay back with my arms behind my head.

I should have been happy. Everything was perfect, perfect house, perfect relationship, and a hell-of-a-lot better than perfect car. I lived in paradise, I was rich, what more could I want? Nothing. There was nothing left to want. But still, there was something missing, and no matter how many nights I spent on this damn beach I still couldn't figure out what.

Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I was just dead-set on not being happy. I always had to make a problem out of everything just for a little excitement.

I sighed and let my eyes drift closed. It wouldn't be the first time I fell asleep on the beach, and a lot of the time it was more comfortable than any of my ten thousand dollar beds could ever be.

My half-asleep brain wandered, dreaming of running away from here, joining the army or the circus or anything that could fill this weird hole in my life, but not really considering any of it. This was home. This was the beach that I played at when I was little. I grew up running up and down the same stairs that I still did. The back yard was packed with all of my memories, pool parties, birthday parties, drunken teenage parties with absolutely no point but forgetting what your own name was. I could never really leave.

I woke up to a dark sky and a coughing sound, not remembering exactly when I'd fallen asleep. It must have been a while, the almost full moon was high in the sky and it was getting chilly. An involuntary shiver ran up my spine, first thing I was going to do when I got home was take a hot bath.

The coughing sounded again, followed by a choking noise, and I froze. I couldn't have imagined that, not twice. I sat up and shook the sleep from my head, trying to find the source of the coughing. To be honest, it was a little creepy, though I wasn't typically superstitious. Maybe I'd seen to many horror movies.

I saw something move in the corner of my vision, someone was pulling themselves onto the beach.

I shook my head again and stood up, making my way over to them against my better judgment. In the back of my mind I was thinking of the countless horror films that started this way, and ended with the zombie apocalypse. Maybe I should start watching comedies.

The figure sputtered again, pulling themselves to their hands and knees, only to fall back down again. Probably some drunk trying to commit suicide. I considered calling the police, but I didn't like the idea of having them poking there nose where they didn't belong. They were usually my last option, they cops around here didn't do much anyway.

The closer I got, the more I was sure it was a male. There was no feminine curve in the shoulders, the cough seemed a bit deep for a woman. He was slender for a male though, his body was more compact.

I kneeled next to him, pulling at his shoulder to get his face out of the water.

"Hey, what the hell is wrong with y-" I stopped midsentence.

It was a _kid._ He couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen. And he was sick. He was shaking furiously, and paler than the water-logged sand underneath him, with a blue undertone that couldn't be healthy. His hair was some dark color that I couldn't make out with only the moon for light, half of it was stuck and dripping down his face, the other half still in the water and swaying with the current.

What caught my attention though were his eyes. He was still awake, staring at me –through me- with little more expression than a rock. They reflected the dim light back at me, like pure obsidian surrounded by emeralds. Like nothing could ever get through them.

I didn't have time for walking dead theories, or even _actual _dead theories.

I pulled my cell from my pocket and made the familiar phone call without looking.

"It's me, I'll be back in ten minutes. Call your dad and have him come to the house."

llllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllll

_All I could hear was the roaring. The failing engine, the water crashing in my ears, the throbbing pain in my head- all of it was closing in on me all at once. I curled in on myself, trying to push it all away. The harder I tried, the more it pushed against me, begging to be heard, seen, tasted. I was choking, my lungs screamed for air. Behind my closed eyelids was a sea of repulsive blue-green that made me want to vomit. My lips tasted salty._

_Someone was tugging at my shoulder impatiently and I tried to shove them away. Couldn't they tell I was drowning? The roar in my ears shifted, higher in pitch, more shrill now. Screaming. Mai was screaming. My name repeated over and over, too close but still too far. I couldn't help her._

_I opened my eyes only to find myself blind. Everything was blurry, a mass of bluish-green water that was impossible to see through. For the first time I realized how cold it was, how much I was shaking. _

"_Mai!"_

The fog in my head lifted little by little. I blinked one last time and everything was clear, the drying salt water on my lips recoated. The same sickening blue-green color covered the walls, the blankets, the rug, the curtains. A brighter blue hovered in my peripheral vision, the source of the persistent tug on my arm. I ignored it.

My own voice echoed in my head, the only reminder of my sister that I had left. My lips stayed shut, if I spoke her name she would be gone for good. I could never have her back.

I closed my eyes again, I had to remember her. Her hair was a shade lighter than mine, it often got mistaken for black too. It was bobbed at her chin, but her bangs fell in her face just like mine, a family cowlick that no hairdresser could seem to fix. Wide, cat-like jewel colored eyes, slightly tilted upward along with her cheekbones, giving away the fact that she was always up to something.

A wind-chime laugh that carried across the room, a smile that hid a million secretes, a fragrance like cherry blossoms and-_ salt_.

My eyes shot open. Vanilla. Cherry blossoms and vanilla.

A lingering shiver rolled its way up my spine.

The still-present blue figure was still there, gripping my shoulder and asking pointless questions. "What's your name" or "Are you alright."

_Alright,_ I fought a scoff. _That term has never applied to me before, let alone now._

The blue haired man didn't pause in his questioning, and was seeming to get more annoyed the more I refused to answer. I turned my head toward him, my eyes snapping to meet the clearest blue eyes I'd ever seen.

Still, I didn't answer. He would never get an answer. I couldn't let Mai go, not yet, maybe not ever. I had to keep her here, the last name I'd spoken. My throat was still raw from screaming it for however many hours I'd searched the choppy black-tipped water for her. I'd seen her sink, I watched the entire wreck fall under the water and almost take me with it, but I never stopped looking. Not until, unknowingly, the current carried me closer to shore, my arms and legs almost giving out before I could make it the rest of the way. I couldn't remember making it to land.

It took a moment to realize the man had stopped talking, and another to recall what the last thing he'd asked was. "Who are you." I took the context into notice. He hadn't asked "What's your name" again, this was meant as an entirely different question.

My lips tightened into a hard line. That kind of question I would never have answered. Questions like that got you into useless trouble, nothing good could ever come from it. The last time I'd answered a question like that I was sent to boarding school that could care less what your name was, much less how you saw yourself.

The man shook his head, seeming to be more annoyed with himself than me now, and stood straight. I pulled myself upright and looked down at myself. Under the disgustingly sea-green comforter I was surprised-again-at how much weight I'd lost in the past few months. I held my hands in front of me, satisfied. They were paler than normal but not shaky.

The blue-haired man scratched the back of his neck, and spoke with an emotion I couldn't place, embarrassment? I paid attention this time, intrigued by his reaction to his own words.

"Anyway, you've been out for like a week so your probably pretty hungry. The kitchen's down the hall," he shoved a thumb toward the nearest door to indicate the direction "and you can use my phone if you need to. The bathroom's over there," the other thumb landed on the door in the opposite direction "so you can shower. I'll be out there if you need somethin'." His chin jerked in the direction he was already headed.

I stood, perplexed, as the door slammed shut. This man was a stranger. I'd never met him before, I didn't even know his name. And now I was a guest?

I stood, noticing for the first time that my jeans and shirt had been replaced with a thin robe the same color as everything else in this room. I suppressed my anger before it had a chance to surface and headed in the direction he'd mentioned. I didn't mind that I'd been changed while sleeping, wearing the same salt-drenched cloths for a week didn't sound very appealing. What annoyed me was the fact that the entire room, down to the damn _bathrobe_ was the same putrid blue-green that turned my stomach even in my dreams. Either the man was obsessed, or hadn't designed the room himself. I chose the latter of the two as more likely, judging by the size of the room, the window that took up most of the right side, and the pool-sized bath, he probably paid people to think for him, much less decorate his guest rooms.

I thought of changing back into my cloths and leaving, it wasn't the type of place I belonged in. But where would I go? All of the money I'd had was in the plane, which was now at the bottom of the ocean-I refused to think of the company it shared. The thought of going home to my overbearing father and my irritable mother was even more repulsive. I couldn't go back, not after coming this far, not with what I'd done. They would never forgive me for killing Mai.

I imagined my fathers condescending voice, reminding me over and over that I'd killed her when I knew very well what I'd done. My mother would turn away, or stare down her nose and tell me it should have been me, that my sister should have lived and I should have drowned. If only they knew how much I wish I had.

I wrapped my arms around my chest and watch the water circle the drain.

llllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllll

The white and blue coffee mug _thunk_ed in front of me, interrupting any and all thoughts that I was having. I was already having trouble keeping track of where my mind would bring me, every subject seemed to end with black shoulder length hair, broad green eyes, and the fact that I didn't know anything about him. What was his _name?_

"-said, _what's wrong?"_

I blinked, and blinked again, trying to focus on the hazel brown eyes and the irritated frown in front of me.

"Nn, what? Oh. Nothing, why?"

Ichigo's eyebrow twitched, which meant that he was seriously, irreversibly pissed now.

"You've been staring at the table for ten minutes now. What the hell's wrong with you?"

I put a fist under my chin and felt my lips tug into a frown.

"That kid, I don't think he can talk."

Ichigo, ever the expressive one, paused in surprise, probably not even considering that as a reason for my sudden sour mood. I'd been waiting all week to find out about this kid, and how he randomly showed up on the beach. I'd created a million scenarios in my mind, mostly ridiculously overestimated ideas, like being a runaway CIA agent or a hunted member of the mafia. The curiosity was unbearable. And now I find out he can't talk? I couldn't help but be a little bitter, not that it was probably the kid's fault.

"What, like he's mute?"

"I guess, I asked if he was okay and he just stared at me like I was an idiot."

"Well, you are an idiot." I shot him a warning look, but he only smirked in response. I felt the familiar anger boil just under the surface, but I ignored it. I should have been use to it by now. He couldn't take anything seriously, I shouldn't expect him to anymore.

I changed the subject with the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be the only thing besides personality that we had in common.

"You work today?"

After checking his phone, he nodded into his coffee, but I was already too distracted to notice.

My ears picked up a tune that hadn't been there before, on the piano that hadn't been touched in years, since I was thirteen and finally had quit the awful lessons my parents put me through. Ever since then the neglected instrument was put in the far back room, furthest away from my daily life as I could get it.

I stood up, not hearing any of the complaints from Ichigo, and made my way to the back room. With every step, the melody seemed to grow more and more heartbreaking, dipping and turning in ways that were agonizingly sad.

I continued down the hallway, pausing just for a second behind the cracked doorway. I pushed it to reveal the open, spacious room that I'd put the old piano in. The white walls contrasted the red velvet window seats and heavy curtains perfectly, I'd forgotten how much I use to love this room. The lighting was dim, even the broad windows couldn't combat the cloudy skies that had come back with a vengeance just in time for an uncommonly rainy spring. In the center sat the sleek white piano, the cover for it was tossed aside, laying across the floor in a heap. And on the bench sat the boy from the ocean, his fingers dancing across the keys as if it were the most natural thing to do.

I hadn't noticed Ichigo follow me, and if I hadn't known his voice so well I might have jumped.

"What's up with this guy?"

I didn't answer, there wasn't really anything to say.

I'd never been much for instrumental music, or any music really, but this was different. Heavy. Like suddenly my chest realized what gravity was, and didn't know how to handle it. If it weren't for my pride I'd be putting my head in my hands like some homesick six year-old that got lost in the store.

Ichigo shifted behind me, I'd forgotten he was there again.

"I gotta go, don't do anything I wouldn't."

I turned and watched him shuffle down the hallway. Didn't he notice how heavy the air was now? Maybe it was just me.

I shook my head and sauntered over, hands in pockets, just as the song came to a close. Almost immediately another picked up -just as lonely, if not more- not faltering for an instant when I spoke.

"This thing's been back here for years, I'm surprised the tune's not all out of whack."

He didn't reply, and never missed a beat. I looked over, wondering if he'd even heard me. If he did, he didn't show any sign of it. His lips were set in a hard line, and his eyes drifted shut every once in a while. His hair was damp, so I assumed he'd just gotten out of the shower. That or he'd gone for a swim, which didn't seem likely considering where I'd found him.

It bugged me that he wasn't paying attention, and knowing that annoyed me even more. I hadn't cared enough to want anyone's attention since, well, as long as I could remember. It never mattered to me before what people's opinions of me were, because most people tended to think the worst to begin with. When you had nice cars or big houses no one though of asking what your favorite show was, or what you liked to do in your free time. I was sure half of my so called "friends" thought I was a big city playboy ass hole that didn't have the time of day for anyone other than myself.

I was all right with that.

So why did it matter that one unimportant, unidentified stranger wouldn't look at me when I was talking? I'd spoken to him all of twice now, neither of which were dignified with a response.

Most people probably would have been angry or insulted, who was this kid to be so ungrateful? I'd given him a place to sleep, food, hot showers, and not so much as a thank you?

I knew that wasn't the case though. Either he couldn't talk, or he had a reason not to, and it drove me nuts not knowing what it was.

I didn't realize he'd stopped playing, or that he was looking straight at me now. I looked away and wracked my brain for something to say, trying to not look like an idiot for the second time in the same hour.

"Did you write that?"

I hadn't expected a response, so I was surprised when he nodded.

And I surprised myself when I sat down next to him.

"Mind teachin' me?"

He stared at me for a minute, then turned and pressed a finger to one of the keys, waiting for me to follow.

The first time he came out for breakfast – or any meal that I'd noticed –was two days later. I'd gotten use to the almost constant background music coming from the piano room, which was the only room other than his own that he spent any time in. I'd managed to learn almost half of the song he was teaching me in the last couple of days, even if I had no idea what notes they were.

Ichigo seemed like he was losing patience, probably wondering why I hadn't kicked him out yet. Honestly I was wondering the same thing.

He happened to bring it up on the same morning.

Mornings were always like clockwork. Wake up, eat breakfast, go our separate ways. Table conversation, as always, was only a little more interesting than the weather, which also happened to be one of the main topics. When he did ask something of value, I almost didn't know what to do with myself.

"What are you gonna do about that?" he jerked his head in the direction of the music that had just picked up, but I pretended not to notice. I stared down at my phone, scrolling through useless emails not really finding anything of interest. My other hand mindlessly pushed things around my plate, I'd never been much for breakfast food, it was all either too sweet or too rubbery.

"About what?"

"The creep in the back room. You aren't planning on letting him stay are you?"

I tried not to sigh. I hadn't been looking forward to this conversation.

"I wasn't really planning on making him leave either."

I kept my eyes on my phone, but I knew what his reaction would be. Shocked wasn't quite the word, more like appalled. Or maybe he was just pissed.

"You've gotta be joking. What if he steals something? Or tries to kill us in our sleep?"

"If he steals something, he probably needs it. Its not like we don't have the money to get it back."

He knew I was right, so he didn't argue. Vaguely, I heard the piano stop mid-song. I thought of getting up to go check on him, but it probably wouldn't have gone over well and I didn't feel like arguing with him anymore.

"So what if he's a murderer?"

"You're still alive aren't you?"

"That doesn't mean he wouldn't-" he stopped when the subject of the conversation stepped silently in the room, filled a cup with coffee, and left the way he came. After a minute the music picked up again, and I couldn't help but laugh. It was basically his equivalent of "I heard that."

I took that as the end of the conversation, and stood up to rinse my plate.

"Listen, I'm not saying throw him out on the street but why does he have to stay _here?_ Are you starting some charity that I didn't know about? You didn't care about that kind of thing bef-"

"Ichigo," I turned to look at him for the first time. I was getting annoyed, he had no right to tell me what to do. This was my house after all, why should he have a say in who stays or goes? "why do you go to work?"

He blinked, confused by the sudden change of subject.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I make more than enough for both of us, and you don't make enough for the hours you put in. There's no reason for you to still be working. So why do you?"

He didn't answer, and I hadn't expected him to. I turned back to set my now clear plate in the dishwasher. I'd told myself before that I wouldn't ask, because honestly I didn't much care to begin with. The only reason I'd even brought it up was because it was the first subject that I could think of. I left the room, not waiting for his reply.

llllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllll

I slid my hand back and fourth across the keyboard, tapping the keys every once in a while but not really playing anything. I was the only one in the house, I'd assumed they had both gone to work. I was surprised that I'd been allowed to stay while they were gone. The one with the blue hair, Grimmjow I'd learned, didn't seem to have a problem with me. The blonde on the other hand showed open hostility toward me from the first day. I didn't bother attempting to figure out why, I knew I had overstayed my welcome already. Grimmjow however, I couldn't fathom why he didn't seem to care. I did know that it caused them to argue, whatever their relationship might have been I was causing problems.

I thought of leaving for the hundredth time since waking up. Of course, as always, I decided against it. With nowhere to go I would just have to come back, my pride wouldn't let me do that.

For the first time in my life I wished I were born into a big family. At least then I would have some other option, somewhere to fall back to.

But I wasn't. I was Ulquiorra Cifer. I was born to a father that was an only child, and a mother that was cut off from her family.

There was nowhere to go.

Dimly, I realized I'd begun wandering the house, too wrapped up in my thoughts to play anything of value. I told myself that I wasn't snooping, I simply had nothing better to do than to roam aimlessly around the empty, too big house.

Still, after a while I found myself searching for certain things, or anything really. The walls were bear, no photos, no certificates, nothing. All of the beds were made perfectly, like they'd never been slept in. Towels hung untouched, crisp and clean as if they were built straight into the architecture.

Judging by Grimmjow's character so far, I was immensely surprised. He didn't strike me as the type of person to pick up his own laundry, much less make a bed. If I hadn't been in the house for the past four days I would have thought he had a maid.

As I was leaving the last room I paused, my hand hovering over the light switch. On the dresser was what looked like a face down photograph. My curiosity got the better of me, and I gingerly picked it up to investigate, a few bits of dust falling off the back. The front showed an armature snapshot of what was undoubtedly a high school party, starring a much younger and very unhappy Grimmjow, next to what looked like a fifteen year old boy trying to antagonize him. It was working, clearly Grimmjow wanted nothing more than to be away from the black haired boy.

The next morning I woke up to three knocks on my door.

I shifted, waking up easily and standing to open the door. It was unnecessary, the door swung open soon after, revealing Grimmjow with his ever-present mad man's grin.

"Get up and get ready, we're going into town to get you some decent cloths." He paused before continuing, a habit he'd gained the over the past few days, more than likely waiting for a reply that wouldn't come. "Yours are getting pretty gross, and you're probably sick of being in the house all the time."

Again I didn't reply, I would have liked to tell him that staying in the house was fine, I tended to avoid public places to begin with. But of course he was right, I'd still only had the one set of cloths I'd been in for days and, though they'd been washed, they were looking somewhat worn. I tried not to think of how my new wardrobe was being paid for.

As always, he took my silence as an agreement, and promptly shut the door behind him.


End file.
